


Drinking Games

by kjack89



Category: Les Misérables - All Media Types
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Developing Relationship, Drinking Games, Friendship, Hijinks & Shenanigans, M/M, Spin the Bottle, Swearing, Terrible friends
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-21
Updated: 2017-02-21
Packaged: 2018-09-26 02:27:42
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9857924
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/kjack89/pseuds/kjack89
Summary: Enjolras frowned at Courfeyrac. “So if you’re not playing King’s Cup anymore, what exactly are you trying to convince me to play?”“Just a little game I like to call…Spin the bottle.”





	

**Author's Note:**

> For [@ahn-juhl-ras](https://tmblr.co/mbrq5JTW4RnxISXg8uxXpZA), who requested a fic based on this prompt: Imagine that your OTP are enemies of some sort and are fighting furiously and Person A is trying to scream “fuck you” and “fight me” at the same time and ends up screaming “fuck me” really loud at Person B in front of all their friends and it gets really quiet until Person B goes ‘why not’ and kisses A. Turns out they liked each other all along and fluff ensues and their friends just go “FINALLY”.”
> 
> And, well, kind of, if you use “based on” very loosely.
> 
> Usual disclaimer applies. Please be kind and tip your fanfic writers in the form of comments and/or kudos.

Courfeyrac propped himself up on his elbows and fluttered his eyelashes at Enjolras, who pulled his laptop closer and did his best to ignore him. “Enjy,” Courfeyrac said in a sing-song voice, sticking his bottom lip out in a pout. “You _can’t_ spend all night on your laptop. Come play with us.”  


“Firstly, I can in fact spend all night on my laptop if I want,” Enjolras said. “And secondly, I’m not playing King’s Cup with Combeferre ever again. You _know_ that Rule Master goes to his head.”

As if to reinforce Enjolras’s point, across the room, Combeferre pointed at Grantaire and exclaimed triumphantly, “You didn’t say it! You have to drink!”

Grantaire gave Combeferre the finger but willing drained his red Solo cup, and Courfeyrac shrugged as he gave Enjolras his most winning smile. “Yeah, but we’re done with King’s Cup now, and Combeferre is only enforcing one specific rule for the rest of the evening, and only because Grantaire told him that he didn’t give a flying fuck if he was Rule Master so he’s being punished.”

Enjolras considered that for a moment. “Fair.” He frowned at Courfeyrac. “So if you’re not playing King’s Cup anymore, what exactly are you trying to convince me to play?”

“Just a little game I like to call…Spin the bottle.”

Enjolras rolled his eyes and looked back at his laptop. “Pass,” he said dismissively.

“But _Enj_ olras,” Courfeyrac whined. “You wouldn’t play truth or dare, you wouldn’t play King’s Cup, and I get it, I really do. We are horrible people and we make up some truly terrible things to do to each other, the way that only friends can. But – and this is a big but—” He broke off, grinning. “Heh. Big butt.” He shook his head and went back to his argument. “But with spin the bottle, there is only a, like, 7-ish percent chance that you’ll be forced to do something you don’t want to do. But a 100 percent chance that you’ll have fun.”

“You and I have very different definitions of fun,” Enjolras grumbled, but he sighed and closed his laptop. “But, fine. I will play. On _one_ condition – you let me get back to work after this stupid game is done. Deal?”

Courfeyrac beamed at him. “Deal!” He shook Enjolras’s hand enthusiastically, threw an arm around his shoulders and tugged him towards the group. “Everyone, guess who has agreed to play spin the bottle with us!”

Éponine made a face, taking a swig of beer. “When did we agree to play spin the bottle? What are we, in eighth grade?”

“Better spin the bottle than seven minutes in heaven,” Musichetta said wisely, before tipping a massive wink at Enjolras, who had settled next to her. “Not that I’d _ever_ say no to seven minutes in heaven with you.”

Enjolras went beet red and Bossuet rolled his eyes. “Sadly, he’ll have to settle for spin the bottle. Now, Grantaire, an empty bottle if you please.”

Grantaire handed over an empty beer bottle and told Bossuet, “Fuck you.”

“Is Grantaire having some kind of fight with Bossuet?” Enjolras asked, mildly curious.

Musichetta shook her head. “No, it’s the rule that Combeferre is making Grantaire follow for the rest of the night – he can only say either ‘fuck you’ or ‘fight me’. And if he doesn’t, he has to drink.”

Enjolras raised an eyebrow as Grantaire slammed half a beer in a single gulp. “That really seems like more of a win-win for Grantaire than anything.”

“Yeah, I’m not entirely sure that Combeferre really thought this rule through, but you know how stubborn he gets.” Musichetta took a sip of her own beer before asking, “So who starts this little shindig?”

“Youngest,” Joly and Feuilly said in unison, grinning and high-fiving. “So I believe that means Prouvaire starts us off,” Joly added.

Prouvaire sighed dramatically and shifted from where he was draped like a cat across Cosette and Bahorel’s laps. “Age before beauty, I understand,” he said solemnly, reaching into the center of the circle and spinning the bottle, which teetered slightly as it spun before landing on Grantaire. “Well, at least it’s someone I’ve kissed before,” Jehan sighed.

Grantaire smirked. “Fight me,” he said.

“Absolutely,” Jehan said, nodding, and leaned across the way to peck Grantaire lightly on the lips. He flopped back against Bahorel and pressed a hand to his forehead. “And thus, with a kiss, I die.”

Grantaire rolled his eyes and looked mutely at Joly for confirmation that it was his turn. When Joly nodded, Grantaire spun the bottle, which took its sweet time before landing on Cosette. Marius went purple in the face and Grantaire offered him an apologetic smile. “Fuck you?” he said, before nodding at Cosette and lifting her hand to press a kiss to her knuckles.

Cosette giggled. “I think that’s cheating to not _actually_ kiss me, but for the sake of Marius’s blood pressure, I’m willing to let it slide.” She spun the bottle and to absolutely no one’s surprise, it managed to land on Marius, who beamed at her.

“Wait, wait, wait, isn’t there a rule that if you land on your partner, you have to spin again?” Bahorel asked.

Cosette fixed him with a death glare. “House rules have to be established before the game begins,” she said frostily, and tossed her hair before planting a big, messy kiss on Marius, who was bright red when he finally resurfaced.

“So, um, my turn, right?” Marius asked dazedly, putting very little effort into spinning the bottle, which is why it wasn’t all that surprising that it barely spun around the circle and landed on Courfeyrac, who batted his eyelashes at him before scooching over and laying one on him.

If anything, Marius was even redder when he finally reemerged and Courfeyrac was smiling with the same satisfaction of a cat that had gotten the cream, and it was with this same self-satisfaction that he spun the bottle, preening when the bottle landed squarely on Grantaire. “Fuck you,” Grantaire sighed, rolling his eyes even as he accepted the kiss with a smirk.

This time, Grantaire’s subsequent spin landed on Combeferre, and both looked at each other for a moment before shrugging and kissing. “Fuck you,” Grantaire said appreciatively as he pulled away, and Combeferre grinned in response.

“Alright, my turn,” he said, turning businesslike as he spun the bottle. There was a collective, “Ooo,” from the group when the bottle landed on Enjolras.

Enjolras raised an eyebrow at the group. “What, do you think that Combeferre and I haven’t kissed before?” He smiled sweetly. “God, if only you knew the truth.”

He leaned in and kissed Combeferre, a swift peck that nonetheless left the collective group speechless. “Fight me,” Grantaire grumbled sourly under his breath, but everyone else applauded politely.

“I’m sorry that we doubted you,” Bahorel called. “But like, you want to get a move on? Because some of us haven’t had a chance to kiss anyone, and honestly, it’s beginning to feel a little personal.”

“Dude, the bottle hasn’t landed on you,” Feuilly said scornfully. “There’s nothing personal about your shitty luck.”

“You’re telling me,” Bossuet said darkly.

Both Feuilly and Bahorel ignored him. “So you’re saying that there’s no reason why anyone wouldn’t want to kiss me?” Bahorel asked. “Because if memory serves, not even an hour ago, this asshole said that he hoped the bottle wouldn’t land on me. Maybe you cast a weird Polish spell on the bottle.”

“Weird Polish spell?” Feuilly repeated. “What the fuck are you even talking about?”

Bahorel crossed his arms in front of his chest. “You heard me.”

Feuilly sighed heavily. “Bahorel, there’s no reason why anyone wouldn’t want to kiss you,” he said patiently. “In fact, anyone here should be honored to kiss you.”

“Including you?”

“Fucking Christ, asshole, is this about you trying to get me to kiss you?” Feuilly demanded.

Bahorel shrugged. “Maybe.”

“Fuck you,” Feuilly said, swiveling around to glare at Enjolras, who, like the rest of the Amis, was gaping openly at him and Bahorel. “It’s your turn to spin.”

Enjolras shook his head. “Right,” he said, leaning forward and spinning the bottle. The entire group held their breath and let it out in a unanimous gasp when the bottle landed squarely on Grantaire.

Grantaire looked from the bottle to Enjolras, clearly flustered, his eyes wide as he gulped and managed, “Fuck me?”

Combeferre opened his mouth to clearly point out that combining the two phrases was still breaking the rule, but Enjolras beat him to speaking as he shrugged and said, “Why not,” before closing the space between them, cupping Grantaire’s cheek and kissing him deeply.

For a moment, everyone gaped silently as Enjolras and Grantaire made out, then Bahorel let out a whoop. “Fucking finally!” he crowed before pointing at Feuilly. “You owe me twenty bucks!”

That started the requisite flurry of money exchanges as everyone settled their various bets over when Enjolras and Grantaire would finally get together, and after everyone had been squared away (Marius seemed to be the overall winner, raking in well over $200), Combeferre cleared his throat. “You guys can stop now,” he said, watching with amusement as Enjolras and Grantaire finally broke apart.

“Oh,” Grantaire said, blinking as if he was just then remembering that they were in the middle of a party. “Um.” He glanced at Combeferre. “Fight me?”

Combeferre waved a dismissive hand. “Rule over,” he said with a sigh. “Only because I imagine that you and Enjolras need to talk, and not even I would sabotage that by making you respond to everything Enjolras says with either ‘fight me’ or ‘fuck you’.”

“Who said we need to talk?” Enjolras asked, raising an eyebrow at Combeferre. “I like Grantaire, he likes me, we just made out…what is there to talk about?”

Grantaire choked on air. “Maybe the part where you like me?” he managed after he regained the ability to breathe.

Enjolras looked at him, surprised. “What, you didn’t know that?” he asked. “I, uh, I thought I was pretty obvious about it, actually. Like when we went to the movies as a group the other day, and I made sure I sat next to you?”

Grantaire blinked. “That might have been obvious if we were in junior high, but you probably still would’ve needed to pass a note to Joly to give to me in study hall for me to catch on to that.”

“Well, I’m sure I was obvious in other ways,” Enjolras said, looking around the room for support and finding none. “I mean, you guys all knew that I liked Grantaire, right?”

“Dude, most of us weren’t even sure you liked anyone, let alone Grantaire,” Feuilly told him.

Courfeyrac nodded. “I mean, one time during freshman year at university, you got drunk and told me that you were in love with Lady Liberty. And then you repeated it when you were sober, so I was never sure, you know, what was going on with that.”

Enjolras looked at Combeferre. “You knew that I liked Grantaire, though, right?”

“Of course,” Combeferre said simply. “I’m your best friend.” He took a sip of beer. “Of course, you also denied it, vehemently, at every single point when I asked you about it. So if I hadn’t known, it would be your fault, not mine.”

Grantaire cleared his throat. “Listen, I don’t care who knew or didn’t know, because I think what’s important here is that _I_ didn’t know. And in this conversation, believe it or not, I’m the one who really matters.”

“Speak for yourself,” Bossuet grumbled. “If I had known, I’d’ve changed my bet over when Enjolras was going to confess that he liked you.” He glared at Enjolras. “You couldn’t hold out for two more weeks, could you?”

“So anyway,” Grantaire continued as if Bossuet had never interrupted him, “yeah, I think there are some things that we probably need to talk about, so we don’t we go, uh, talk about it.”

He gestured toward the front door with his head, but Enjolras grinned and shook his head. “I have a better idea,” he said, grabbing Grantaire’s hand and pulling him to his feet. “Seven minutes in heaven.”

“Seven minutes in…” Grantaire trailed off, his eyes widening. “Yeah, ok. Talking’s overrated.” He let Enjolras tug him towards the closet, a grin slowly growing across his face.

“Are you guys serious?” Courfeyrac called, and Grantaire gave him the finger before following Enjolras into the closet and shutting the door. “Dude, it was your turn to spin!” He turned back to the group, scowling. “Well that kind of took all of the fun out of the game.”

Bossuet nodded, leaning his head against Joly’s shoulder. “Yeah, it was only fun when there was the potential of Enjolras and Grantaire kissing. Who cares if the rest of us kiss?”

Joly patted him on the knee. “I care,” he said supportively, and Bossuet smiled and kissed him lightly.

“So,” Feuilly said as they all sat staring at each other. “What are we gonna do now?”

“Truth or dare?” Jehan offered.

Bahorel waved a dismissive hand. “Nah, we do that all the time.”

“We could have meaningful conversations about social justice and the issues plaguing our society,” Cosette suggested.

This suggestion was met with obvious derision. “Who do you think we are?” Courfeyrac asked, shuddering. “Anyone who does that is a bunch of boring assholes.”

They all once again fell silent until Combeferre sighed heavily, as if he didn’t want to ask what he was about to. “Do you want to listen to Enjolras and Grantaire make out?”

“Abso-fucking-lutely!” Bahorel said, and all of them simultaneously scrambled to the closet door to press their ears against it and listen to two of their closest friends make out.

“Are we bad people?” Courfeyrac asked conversationally.

“Of course we are,” Joly said reassuringly. “And _shh_. We’re trying to listen here.”

Inside the closet, Grantaire surfaced for air long enough to ask Enjolras, “Do you think they’re all out there listening to us?”

Enjolras considered it for a moment. “Probably,” he said. “Honestly, I’d be surprised if they weren’t.”

Grantaire grinned. “So what do you say we give them something to listen to?”

Enjolras grinned as well. “What did you have in mind?”

“We-ell,” Grantaire said, drawing the word out, his smile turning dirty. “As I accidentally suggested earlier – fuck me.”

A few moments later, Marius pulled his head away from the closet door so quickly that he almost gave himself whiplash. “Are…are they…?” he spluttered, and the rest of the Amis followed suit, looking equal parts horrified and amused.

“I do believe they are,” Courfeyrac said, thoroughly impressed. “Goddamn. You have to have respect for how quickly they moved from making out to, well, making love.”

A loud, animalistic groan emanated from the closet, and Joly wrinkled his nose. “There’s nothing ‘making love’ about that sound.”

“I feel a little dirty,” Feuilly admitted. “Like we probably shouldn’t be here listening to this.”

“Definitely not,” Musichetta confirmed. “So we’re not going anywhere, right?”

“Are you kidding me?” Courfeyrac asked. “When Enjolras emerges from that closet without his virginity, I am going to give him the highest of fives.”

Inside the closet, where Enjolras and Grantaire were sitting on the floor, fully clothed, occasionally pounding on the ground or walls and letting out filthy moans, Grantaire asked, “So are we actually going to talk about this at some point?”

“Oh, sure,” Enjolras said, suddenly turning a little shy. “Do, uh, do you want to go out, sometime?”

Grantaire grinned wider than he ever had before. “Yeah,” he said. “Yeah, I think that’d be awesome.” He leaned in and kissed Enjolras, tentatively at first, and then a little harder, before finally pulling away. “I really do like you.”

“And I really do like you,” Enjolras said, ducking his head and blushing. “But now we really need to go back to making our friends think we’re banging.”

“Oh, of course,” Grantaire said with an easy grin. “Thank god for spin the bottle, huh?”

Enjolras laughed. “Yeah. Thank god for spin the bottle.”


End file.
